


50 Rhodey/Tony AUs

by Unadulterated



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adoption, Adorable Tony Stark, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, And a good boyfriend, M/M, Panic Attacks, Recovery, Rhodey Is a Good Bro, School Reunion, Terminal Illnesses, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 04:04:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2295944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unadulterated/pseuds/Unadulterated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says on the tin. I found a list of 50 shippy AUs on tumblr and felt the sudden, burning desire to write them all with my otp. Each chapter is a prompt. Updated hopefully quickly but likely sporadically.</p>
<p>
  <em>Tony looks at Rhodey—best friend, ally, lover—and wonders if there’s any world where he can live without him.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Best Friend's Sibling

So it goes like this:

James Rhodes and Sam Wilson have been best friends since Sam pushed him over in the sandbox in preschool and then helped him back up when he started crying. Sam has been friends with Steve since they met freshman year of high school in ROTC. Steve is best friends—by which James means attached at the _freaking hip_ —with James _Barnes_ , who luckily has already been going by Bucky for years, so there’s little to no name confusion. Sam is fine with sharing best friend status among them like a community cash pot.

And Bucky and James get along, if not like a house on fire, than at least like a gently smoldering motel. So when Sam and Steve are being responsible and doing their English essays on a Friday night, Bucky calls James instead.

“It okay if I bring my little brother?” Bucky asks James with a bit of a grimace, like he already knows how that sounds. “I mean, he’s cool. It’d be cool. But I won’t if you’d rather I didn’t.”

James frowns. “I didn’t know you have a brother.”

“Step brother,” Bucky explains. “I mean, he’s our age. I just call him little to mess with him, ‘cause he’s short. He just spends way too much time building nerdy stuff in his room, so I thought, maybe he’d actually finally make a friend—“ He stops and winces, then clears his throat. “Forget I said that. Little bro or no?”

“Sure,” James says, because the caring-older-brother side of Bucky is one that James hasn’t seen since Steve actually started winning his own fights. Besides, this kid sounds lonely.

And that’s how James meets Tony Stark.

—§§§—

If James thought Tony must be lonely, the kid probably does it to himself. He has two modes: doesn’t shut up and doesn’t pay attention, and they have a frustrating habit of overlapping.

When Tony jumps in the car, he gives James a once over, looks at Bucky, and says, “Who’s this? Your boyfriend?”

Bucky’s hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel and James wonders if Tony actually knows that Bucky’s gay, or if he’s just being a jerk. Bucky takes a breath. “No. This is James.”

“No, you’re James,” Tony frowns.

Rolling his eyes, Bucky looks over his shoulder at him. “I’m _Bucky_ , he’s _James_. What’s your problem?”

Tony huffs an indignant little sigh and looks to James instead. “James…” He rolls his hand in an expectant gesture.

Bucky says “Just James” at the same time that James says “Rhodes.”

“Rhodey it is,” Tony decides, nodding regally.

Bucky shoots James a look that says _I’m sorry,_ but James just shrugs good-naturedly. He can deal with a nickname for one night.

—§§§—

It isn’t just one night. Maybe they shouldn’t be friends, but somehow they are. James meets Pepper, Tony’s long-distance ex (like a long-distance girlfriend, Tony says, except apparently there was a thing and she’s dating someone else but is somehow awesome enough for Tony to still hang onto) and somehow accidentally builds a robot that sets off the fire alarm at the school. Twice.

So they’ve only known each other for about three months and James is _already_ cursing himself for ever meeting this kid, not because of getting grounded or almost getting caught for the fire alarm thing, but because Tony charms the pants off of everyone he meets and, judging from his string of popular exes and fan club, is one hundred percent heterosexual.

But apparently James is a masochist, so he hangs around Tony anyway.

“You know,” Tony says, and they’ve been friends for three months and a week. They’re on the lawn in front of Bucky’s house—Tony’s too, James supposes—and James is sprawled out on his back while Tony picks at the grass. “If you _are_ Bucky’s boyfriend, I don’t really care. I know he’s gay, even if Dad doesn’t. I won’t tell anyone.”

“I am aware of Bucky’s sexuality,” James says levelly, staring at the clouds, “but no, I’m not his boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Tony picks a dandelion and pulls all the little yellow pedals out. The wind blows a few onto James’ face when Tony lets go. “ _Oh_ ,” he says again, a little panicked, “are you straight? I didn’t mean to assume. Just, Sam and Steve, I figured his gaydar was a gay _magnet_ too—“

“I’m gay,” James says, cutting off Tony’s motor mouth before he says anything else embarrassing or vaguely incriminating. Sam _and_ Steve—have those two finally got their shit together?

“Alright.” Tony seems vaguely smug, which annoys James probably more than it should. “Do you think I’m hot?”

James sits up fast and glares at Tony. “Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I want to make out with every boy I see.”

Tony blinks and cautiously puts his hands up. His fingertips are stained green. “Sheesh, I know. I mean, _nobody_ could find Justin Hammer hot. I just wondered.”

James looks away from Tony’s face and down at the grass. It’d been so comfy just a moment ago, but the lazy, content mood has dissipated and he’s left feeling awkward and out of place. “Why do you care, anyway?”

“Um, ‘cause I’d kinda like to make out with you?” Tony says. “But, I mean, if you don’t want to then that gets a little difficult.” James slowly looks up to stare at him. Tony blinks at the sudden focus: “What?”

“But… you’re straight.”

“Bi, actually,” Tony shrugs. Then frowns. “You really thought I was straight?”

James doesn’t answer because it’s just processed that _Tony wants to kiss him._ So he does the only reasonable thing and grabs Tony’s shirt, pulls him forward and kisses him right on the mouth.

It’s understandable that they don’t hear the car pull up, since they’re so busy making out on the lawn. But it’s kind of hard to ignore Bucky’s flabbergasted _“What are you two doing!?”_

Neither of them are sorry.


	2. One Night Stand and Falling Pregnant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, if you haven’t noticed, both members of this pairing are men. Which doesn’t exclude M-Preg, but for the sake of avoiding that somewhat cracky trope, I’m going with this instead, for the prompt.

“You’re what,” Tony says into the phone. “No. You can’t be.”

“Apparently we forgot the condom,” the woman sniffs across the line. “I—that’s it, I’m never hooking up while drunk again.”

Tony sits down hard on the kitchen chair. He’s got to agree with this woman, even if he can’t remember her name. Starts with a K, he thinks. Krista? Kennedy? Katelyn? Hell, he doesn’t remember if she has blonde or brunette hair. Not a redhead, he thinks he would have remembered that.

“O…kay,” Tony says. “Um. So. Now I know. What are you going to do?” _Please don’t file a paternity suit, please don’t file a paternity suit._

“I don’t _know_!” she wails, and Tony winces, pulling the phone away from his ear slightly. “I can’t afford a baby! I, I, I want a life, not a family.” She starts sobbing and Tony sits there helplessly, mouth firmly shut before he says something stupid that results in more emotions. Emotions are gross. Why do people even _have_ emotions? They’re just all sticky and awkward…

“Are you going to keep it?” Tony blurts, because apparently he sucks at staying quiet.

That brings a fresh wave of tears on the other end of the line. “I _can’t_! I have to give it up. Someone will adopt it, I guess. I just—I just wanted you to know you had a baby out there. Somewhere.” She sounds so forlorn, and Tony almost tries to comfort her until she _hangs up on him_.

Tony stares at his cellphone with mounting panic. Does he trust the system? No, not really. The kid would probably be fine, grow up in a nice house with a white picket fence. Or he could become the victim of shady characters who preyed on abandoned children.

Yeah, nope. “Rhodey!” he yells.

Upstairs, there’s a yell and a thump. A door opens, footsteps beat down the stairs, and James pokes his head into the kitchen. His hair’s wet, recently showered, and he hasn’t yet gotten around to putting on a shirt. For just a moment, Tony is fiercely glad he’s dating this wonderful hunk of a human being, because James Rhodes is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Also, two guys equals _no unexpected babies._

“What’s wrong?”

“So,” Tony starts, closes his mouth because this is ridiculous, then opens it again because it has to be said anyway. “So. Remember how we broke up, like, two months ago?”

James rubs the bridge of his nose. “Yes. And you stumbled back in three days later, apologizing on bended knee and smelling like a sewer?”

“Yeah,” Tony laughs nervously. “That. So, right after that fight I kinda went and got drunk.”

James side-eyes him, obviously catching on to the fact that this wasn’t just something about their general off-and-on relationship. “And?”

Tony takes a deep breath. “And now I kinda need to know your thoughts on adopting my illegitimate child.”

Since Tony is still holding his cellphone, he takes a snapshot of James’ pole-axed expression almost completely by reflex. Two years later, the picture is in the scrapbook alongside the baby pictures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this, my tumblr is [miniongrin](http://miniongrin.tumblr.com/).


	3. Parents Meeting When They Take Their Kids to Class

“So,” Tony says, _act casual, act cool_ , _do NOT ask if he comes here often,_ “Which one’s yours?”

James Rhodes—yes, Tony knows his name, even though he’s never actually _talked_ to the guy, don’t judge, okay—looks over at him. He’s a single dad that Tony’s been eying for the past two months of school: always drops his daughter off and picks her up from kindergarden himself, hugs her and kisses her little forehead before sending her off with a lunchbox that he probably packed, and it’s so sweet it could give Tony a toothache. Apparently he has a previously unknown thing for adorable, responsible dads.

“She’s over there,” James says, pointing to the playground, or more specifically, the little girl at the base of the slide with her bushy hair done up in pigtails. _He can even do his daughter’s hair_.

“Lila, right?” Tony says, _realizes_ what he’s said, and makes a saving throw: “Peter talks about her.” Which is true. And stop it, it’s not like he’s _stalking_ James through his child’s information. (He’s not.)

“You’re Peter’s dad?” James says in realization, smiling. It looks a little like the sun’s come out. “Lila talks about him, too.”

Tony has a giddy feeling, the kind you get when your crush notices you exist. Which is pathetic, he’s not—he doesn’t have a crush. He’s just, well. Completely head over heels. Which is only _kind of_ the same as a crush.

“Hey, baby!”

Tony starts and realizes that no, James is not talking to him. While he’s been staring (probably too long) at James, Lila’s come up to her daddy. James goes to one knee to give her the hug that her outstretched arms demand. Feeling a tug on his pant leg, Tony looks down at his own son. “Petey-bird!” he says brightly.

The nickname earns a huff, a pout, and a petulant _“Daaaad.”_ Kindergarden students should not be allowed to sound so much like teenagers.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you, Peter. Terrorizing the playground yet? Or are you letting the older kids do that for now?” Tony scruffs Peter’s hair.

Peter stomps his foot. “Dad!”

A little taken aback, Tony frowns and crouches down in front of his son. “What’s up, buddy?” If Peter’s about to have a _moment_ in front of James Rhodes, Tony might have to cry later. But he’ll survive, he supposes.

Lila’s the one who drops the bombshell: “We’re getting married!”

Tony reflexively looks to James with a questioning expression, only to find James looking at him exactly the same way. No help there, then.

“That’s great, sweetie,” James says warmly, recovering quickly, and Lila giggles.

It’s adorable to the point that it’s like staring into the sun. Tony looks back at Peter. “Well,” _you’re not allowed to marry your future step-sister_ , “congrats, kiddo.”

“We can’t get married yet, ‘cause we’re too little,” Peter confides to him. “But when we grow up, we’re gonna get married.”

“Good plan of attack,” Tony assures him. Speaking of plans of attack—“Sounds like we need to get to know the family, though. Dinner on Thursday?” He gives James the blinding smile he reserves for people he actually likes and crosses his fingers where James won’t see them.

James laughs. “Sounds great,” he says, and his eyes linger on Tony’s face in a way that says maybe—just maybe—James would like to get to know him a little better too.


	4. One of Them Being Diagnosed with a Terminal Illness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you couldn't tell by the chapter title, this is NOT a happy one. I will try to write a fluffy one next to make up for it... But my muse is not always kind.
> 
> On a happier note, thank you for the comments! It's encouraging. :)

James can’t sit still. Anytime he tries, the fear creeps up and jangles his nerves until his foot is tapping and his hands are shaking and he can’t seem to get enough air. But there’s not enough to do—he cleans the house, cooks a healthy lunch from scratch, bakes a pie from his mom’s old recipe, cleans again, dusts the house. But their house is always pretty close to clean, except for Tony’s workshop, and James can’t bring himself to go in there.

Tony seems to have been affected in the exact opposite way. He hasn’t moved from the couch since they got home from the appointment, and James hasn’t had the heart to make him. Tony just stares blankly at the walls while James whirls past in high emotion.

The world has stopped and it’s moving too fast, all at once.

“Sit down for a bit. You’re making me tired just watching you,” Tony says quietly, not looking away from the ticking clock, counting down seconds that are now numbered.

With a gusty sigh, James comes over to sit next to Tony. It’s quiet between them, and James hates it, but for all the humming in his bones, his words have deserted him.

Tony lets out a nigh-silent sob and James reaches out blindly, clutching Tony’s hand like a lifeline. Whose, he doesn’t know. “I love you,” James whispers, because that’s the only thing left in his hollowed-out heart.

Tony makes a sound like a wounded dog. “I love you,” James insists. Tony shakes his head, and James squeezes his hand. “ _I love you_.”

“No,” Tony pleads, “no, don’t—“

“Yes,” James hisses. “Yes, I love you, I _love_ you.”

“No, I’m dying.” Tony’s eyes are squeezed shut and leaking; James’ aren’t far behind. “I’m gonna die, you can’t fix it, I’m going to _die_ —“ The shaking starts in Tony’s fingers and no matter how hard James hold onto his hand it doesn’t stop.

One hand isn’t enough anymore, so James pulls Tony in and _finally_ Tony moves, falling into James like he can’t hold himself up anymore. Arms tight around Tony’s heaving shoulders, James buries his face in Tony’s hair. “I can’t fix it,” James admits quietly. “I can’t. But I can love you, and I do, and I’m going to love you right up through the end.”

Tony sucks in a shaky breath. “But I didn’t want this,” he whispers fiercely. “I didn’t want—I don’t want to hold you down. I can’t _stand_ that, Rhodey. I can’t stand to hurt you.”

“We’ll get through this together,” James swears, kissing the top of Tony’s head.

Tony shakes his  head slowly. “No. _You’ll_ get through this. I’ll be gone.”

And that—that’s it. It’s true and there’s nothing James can do to change it. There’s no more words, no more options.

They cry and cling to each other until night comes, and they lie awake in each other’s arms until their tears are dried on their cheeks and the sun rises to begin the first day of the end of a life.


	5. Knocking on the Wrong Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realize this does not count as knocking, but Tony doesn't seem like a knocking kind of person to me.

He’s drunk again.

Well, that’s not a surprise, Tony spends eighty percent of his time drunk these days, but right now he’s _really_ drunk. Like, can-barely-read-the-numbers-on-the-doors drunk. But he counts the doors down the apartment where Pepper’s making him live until he’s sobered up—ha, like that’ll work—and hits seven or eight when he decides walking straight is overrated and he stumbles into the door.

He frowns at the wood. Is this his apartment door? Probably. And if it’s not, well, it _should_ be, and he can pay them and stuff, so yeah, this is his apartment. He reaches into a pocket for his keys and comes up empty. After a brief groping session with himself, he’s forced to realize he left his keys somewhere, probably the bar, and really has no way of getting into his apartment.

Squinting his eyes, he tries to think. Some of the drunkenness is dissipating with the sad realization that he’d really like to crash on his bed and he _can’t get to it_. Mostly, though, he’s left staring at the door handle for what could be anything from thirty seconds to ten minutes, until he remembers he’s still got that one blond’s (well, the third blond, but she was one _of the_ blonds) bobby pin still in his pocket.

In the past few years, he’s learned to do a lot of things drunk. Picking a lock is just one of the many things in his arsenal.

Inside, the apartment doesn’t look very much like his. But it is, isn’t it? Tony stumbles over to the couch and runs his hands over the upholstery: it’s a nice, clean grey.

“Who are you and how did you get in here?”

It takes a moment to process the words, but once he does, Tony looks up to where they’d come from and sees a hot black man staring at him from across the room, over a gun. He frowns at the weapon. “Uh, hey, those are dangerous. It could go off. So, you know, careful.” He tries to make a chiding gesture with his hands and manages to almost fall over.

The ground is nicer, anyway. He kneels there and hugs the side of the couch the best he can, because the world is spinning pretty badly.

“You’re drunk,” the man says. He sounds rather shocked, or disappointed, Tony always has a difference telling the two apart. “You _broke into my apartment_ while _drunk_?” That’s probably disappointment.

“Imma throw up,” Tony tells him seriously, cheek pressed against the side of the couch, and then does.

—§§§—

Tony wakes up on a grey couch that looks vaguely familiar and mentally congratulates himself on not drowning in his own vomit. One more day he has in his life to go out and get too drunk around too many women.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” someone says—male, hm—and there’s the sound of fabric moving. Suddenly, Tony’s eyes are assaulted by the rising sun and he groans pitifully, worming around to mash his face into the back of the couch. That’s nicer. But he could really just use a few more hours of sleep.

He says so.

The guy in the room laughs, which isn’t very nice, and Tony considers trying to sit up to glare at him. But after a quick cost-benefit analysis he decides it’s not worth it to risk the sun. “You’re lucky I didn’t throw you out in the hallway to go find your own room.”

“This is not a very fun morning after,” Tony grumbles, mostly to himself. “Was I really that bad?”

“We didn’t have sex.”

“Aw,” Tony says, disappointed.

The guy snorts. “No, you just broke into my apartment as ass-o’clock in the morning and I almost shot you before I realized you were just really, really drunk and not actually violent. Come on, now, get up.”

“Make me,” Tony challenges.

“I have coffee.”

“Fine, fine.”

It takes something close to herculean effort to get himself off the couch and through the room, mostly with his eyes closed thanks to the sun streaming in through cruelly open curtains. He bumps into a couple things, but it’s worth the pain when he gets to the dinky little kitchen without permanent damage to his eyes.

He gratefully takes the coffeecup from his savior and guards it as he takes time just to smell it. When he figures he _probably_ won’t burn his tongue off, Tony takes a sip. He approves. The rest of the coffee quickly follows.

“I’m James Rhodes, by the way.”

“Good name,” Tony says absently. “I mean, James is pretty common. But Rhodes. Hm, I’m calling you Rhodey.”

There’s a beat of silence. “That was an invitation for you to tell me your name,” Rhodey tells him.

“Oh!” Tony puts on his million-watt smile. “I’m Tony Stark.”

“ _The_ Tony Stark?” Rhodey questions skeptically. “In this apartment building?”

Tony shrugs and frowns at his coffeecup. It’s empty. That happened fast. “I’m here until I dry out, apparently. Too drunk to do company work.”

“Because that seems to be working so well.”

Tony scowls. “Yeah. Don’t get preachy with me, Sugar Plum.”

“Sugar Plum?” Rhodey says incredulously. Tony ignores him.

“I’m going to go…” He trails off absently, patting himself down, and sighs. “Or, well, I guess I’ll go get a new key. Or something. Ugh, what if some weirdo’s in my apartment—“

“Imagine the horror,” Rhodey says wryly, folding his arms.

“Thanks for not letting my drown in my own vomit, yes, I love you too, Honey Bear.” Rhodey makes a face that Tony can’t quite decipher, but looks fairly constipated. “But now I’ll get out of your hair. See you later!”

He doesn’t _actually_ intend to see Rhodey later. Even if he lives just down the hall, which isn’t going to last long anyway.

Life doesn’t seem to agree with him, though.

—§§§—

Another day, another dollar—spent, anyway. And another night spent drunk. Tony _knows_ his apartment is around here somewhere, and maybe he should have gone home with the redhead because it probably would have been easier than this.

Huh. That door looks familiar. Tony’s pretty sure he likes that door. He fumbles with his key and tries to stick it in the door, but it won’t go and the handle won’t turn. He lets his head fall against the door with a thump, which hurts, but it’s too much effort to raise it again. Stupid door. He kicks it.

It doesn’t hurt his toe nearly as much as his head, so he does it again, and again. Then the door opens and Tony falls in, caught by a broad, very nice chest.

“You again,” Rhodey says, pushing at Tony’s shoulders to haul him upright. “Why am I not surprised. Where’s your apartment, anyway?”

Tony blinks at him. Then smiles brightly, because he wants Rhodey to like him. “This is my apartment.”

“No,” Rhodey says slowly, like he has to spell it out, which is ridiculous because Tony is _smart_. He’s a _genius_. “This is my apartment.”

Tony frowns. “Oh. Can I buy it?”

“What? No.” Rhodey shakes his head at Tony. “You’re so hammered. If you’re not going to tell me where your apartment is, you can have the couch. _Last_ time.”

“Or we could share the bed,” Tony suggests, waggling his eyebrows.

“Or I could throw you out in the hallway.”

Tony pouts. “The couch likes me better than you do?”

Rhodey stares at him again, apparently trying to parse the genius that is Tony’s brain, and while he’s distracted Tony tries to sidle into the apartment. Rhodey grabs his arm when the floor tilts and brings him upright again.

“I wuv you too, Sour Patch.”

“Just go to sleep. Wait, I’ll get you a glass of water. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“I’ll thank you now.” Tony wiggles his eyebrows again.

“You’re ridiculous,” Rhodey says from the kitchen. “And drunk.”

“Those are my two words.” Tony frowns. “My life. In two words.”

Rhodey pushes a glass of water into his hands. “Go to sleep.”

—§§§—

“Did we have sex _this_ time?” Tony wants to know when he wakes up.

Rhodey pulls the curtains open, which is just mean, and Tony whines and puts his face in the couch.

“No, we did not. And next time you have the burning desire to flirt with alcohol poisoning, either come here _first_ so I can dissuade you or don’t come here at all. What’s your apartment number, by the way?”

“23.” Tony mumbles.”

“Thank you. Cup of coffee’s on the kitchen table, steal anything and I’m suing, I have to leave.”

Just to be an asshole, Tony takes a breath and yells, “Have a good day at work, Honey Bunch!” He almost immediately regrets it, since it hurts his ears, but he swears he hears Rhodey chuckle as he walks out the door.

—§§§—

Tony knocks on the door like a normal person about three days later. Rhodey opens the door and cocks and eyebrow. Tony holds up a bottle of bourbon. “I’m not so sure about alcohol poisoning, since hospitals aren’t fun, but wanna get drunk with me?”

“Is that going to be the best drink I’ve ever had in my life?”

Tony thinks about it. “Probably.”

Rhodey shakes his head, but not in a ‘no’ sort of way; more like Pepper’s head shake, which says ‘you’re ridiculous’ more than anything else. “Get in here, Stark.”

He’s calling him ‘Tony’ by the time they’ve finished the bottle.

—§§§—

The hangover isn’t nearly as bad this morning as it was the last two times. He wakes up on the couch again, and when Rhodey stumbles in from his room Tony doesn’t ask if they’ve done anything untoward, because apparently Rhodey’s not that kind of guy. And if waking up in someone’s home the third time isn’t the charm for a casual hookup, Tony’s pretty sure that means Rhodey’s kind of maybe a friend.

Which is a little worrying. Tony’s not very good at ‘friends.’

He can’t be too nice, though, so he stumbles over to the curtains and sweeps them open while shielding his own eyes. Rhodey’s groan is wonderful vengeance.

When they’re drinking coffee around the kitchen table, Rhodey looks at him and says, “So a billionaire is in a middle-class apartment building?”

Tony sighs, because he doesn’t really want to think about this. But Rhodey isn’t sneering at him or anything, so he can give it a shot. “I’ve been drinking too much, according to my assistant.”

“And your assistant has the authority to kick you out of your house?”

“Technically, no. In practice? Pepper runs the company. She runs my house. And she and my chauffeur and even my own robots have ganged up on me, so yes, she kicked me out of the house until I’m dry again.” Tony sinks down in his seat, scowling into his coffeecup.

“Do you _want_ to stop drinking?”

“Of course. I mean, I want—“ He wants not to think. He wants not to feel. He wants a life and a brain and a heart that doesn’t chip away little pieces of his soul every day. “I don’t want to be dependent,” he says, because at least that much is true.

Rhodey hums. “Well. At least you’re, like, a famous person and not a hobo, so you probably won’t kill me for trying to be a good samaritan. How about I help you out?”

Tony stares at him. “What?”

“You come over to my house instead of a bar. Like last night, except minus the alcohol. We’ll get you dried up and then you can go back to your mansion or tower or wherever it is you live these days. Want to?”

Well, it can’t be as bad as Pepper giving him disappointed looks. And Rhodey will probably end up disappointed, but Tony can at least try. He fails with people, a lot, but he doesn’t like having to say he didn’t even try.

“Sure. Why not?”

—§§§—

Rhodey’s talking to Happy and so Tony’s trapped with Pepper. He did good, he hasn’t had a drink in a few weeks, so he doesn’t know why he feels so _squirmy_ standing next to her, but he does.

“Looks like you made a friend,” Pepper says, and she’s doing that thing where she’s smirking but it’s not really a _smirk_ because she’s too nice for that. Tony huffs and folds his arms, but there’s nowhere to look, really.

“It’s because I’m awesome.”

Pepper gives him a glance, just one, because she of all people know that being awesome is the exact opposite of making friends, for him. He’s more likely to _lose_ them that way than anything.

Tony’s phone buzzes. It’s Happy. “You do know you’re standing about thirty feet away,” Tony asks him when he answers.

“You do know you haven’t noticed us waving at you? Mr. Rhodes wants to hear it from you if you’re serious about the apartment thing.”

“Fine, fine, give him the phone,” Tony says impatiently. There’s a rush of static as ownership of the phone changes.

“I can’t accept this,” Rhodey tells him.

“Of course you can. You do realize this is like nothing out of my paycheck? And hey, I won’t have to pick the lock this time if I fall off the wagon.”

“You only did that once.” Rhodey still doesn’t sound sure.

“Fall off the wagon? I’ve done that tons of times.” Tony knows what he means, so he starts talking again before Rhodey can get a word in edgewise. “Come on, Granny Apple, Pumpkin Cookie, will you accept for _me_? Pretty please?”

There’s a pause. Tony grits his teeth and doesn’t let himself say another word. “Pumpkin Cookie,” Rhodey says finally. “That is one I haven’t heard before.”

Tony can’t help himself. “Sooooo…”

Rhodey sighs. “Fine. Trial period.”

Tony fist pumps and realizes a moment too late that Rhodey can actually still see him. “Okeday. Have fun moving in. Chao, Honey Bear.”

Tony hangs up and finds Pepper giving him an odd look. “You gave him nicknames?” she asks, surprised.

“Well, I gave him the nickname Rhodey. The rest I just kind of made up on the spot.” Tony glances over again; this should not come as a surprise to her, but she still has that look on her face. “What? I give everyone nicknames.”

Pepper shakes her head. “No, you make fun of everyone. Those obnoxious, cutesy nicknames? You only give those to people you like.”

Tony frowns. “Well, sure. Rhodey’s a great guy. Who wouldn’t like him?”

Again with the staring. Pepper purses her lips. “At the risk of sounding like a five-year-old,” she says finally, “I meant _like_ -like, Tony.”

“ _Like_ —“ Tony gapes at her, then turns to stare at Rhodey. He’s still talking to Happy, who looks, well, happy about it. A lot of people seem to prefer pretending the chauffeur isn’t actually there, but Rhodey’s a generally nice human being. Tony doesn’t know enough of those.

Oh God, he’s sunk. And his _ex-girlfriend_ noticed before he did.

It takes him a minute to find the words. “But I don’t deserve him.”

Pepper arches an elegant eyebrow. “Why don’t you let _him_ decide that, hm?”

—§§§—

Normally, Tony would just let himself in. But that seems rather rude when he’s about to ask what he is. So he rings the doorbell and waits for Rhodey to answer the door.

He does. And he looks rather surprised to see Tony. “I thought you got yourself a key _specifically_ so you wouldn’t have to wait for me to answer the door anymore.”

Tony shrugs and his gaze slides over to the wall. “Well, I had a question. Have a question. And, I mean, I wasn’t going to ask, but then Pepper said I was being stupid except not in so many words and basically I decided that I _would_ ask you after all.”

Rhodey waits a moment, then, when Tony doesn’t say anything, prompts, “The question?”

“Right, um.” Tony really hopes he isn’t about to ruin the only friendship he has that didn’t start out as a paycheck. He pulls out his million (billion) dollar smile, just in case. “Would you be terribly opposed to going on a date with me?”

Rhodey stares at him.

“Or not,” Tony says quickly. “I mean, if you’re straight, or just don’t see me that way, I will be absolutely not creepy and I can keep my hands to myself, so I’m—“

“Wait, what?” And that’s when Tony realizes Rhodey is laughing. “Tony, I thought we were already dating.”

“We were?” Tony blurts.

Rhodey makes a ‘duh’ hand gesture. “You propositioned me the first two times you woke up in my apartment. I assumed you realized I wanted to go slow and respected that. That’s not what you were thinking?”

“Possibly subconsciously,” Tony admits. “But, um—“ He thinks for a moment, breathes in, and blows out. “Yes. Yes, let’s be dating. Is that alright?” he checks.

Rhodey’s smirking at him. “Yes, that’s alright.”

“Does that mean I can kiss you now?” Tony asks hopefully.

Rhodey ducks in and kisses him in answer. It’s a nice kiss, but it’s over to quickly, though it takes Tony a moment to get his brain back online. “That an answer?”

“Well, see, I was more saying _I_ would be kissing _you_ , as in initiating the action—“

“Then be faster next time.”

It really should _not_ come as a surprise when Tony takes him at his word and pounces on him.


	6. Dysfunctional Relationship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I'm sorry. In advance.

“Rhodey!” Tony shouts. James stops and glares over his shoulder, tightening his hand on his duffel bag so he won’t give into the urge to punch his boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. Whatever.

Tony jogs up to him, still breathing hard from their shouting fight. James packed really damn fast after it had ended—he’s pretty good at that by now. Leaning over to grab his knees for support, Tony holds up a hand to forestall anything James might say. He’s done, though; everything he meant to say he’d screamed at Tony twenty minutes ago. He’s just done.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says. “It was my fault. I know it was. Here, I’ll—I’ll throw out the coke, and I’ll delete her number. You can delete it for me, if that makes you feel better about it. We can fix this, I’ll change, just—just, please don’t leave.”

And now he’s tired, nothing but that bone-deep weariness that always follows so close on the heels of adrenaline when they fight like this. James rubs a hand over his face. “Maybe it’s better like this. We don’t—“ He gestures between the two of them hopelessly, wishing he could make Tony. “We don’t work like we thought we did. We can’t keep doing this.”

“But you’re still saying ‘we,’” Tony says knowingly.

“ _I_ can’t do this anymore, Tony!” James shouts

“Yes, _we_ can,” he insists. He takes a shaky breath. “Please.” His voice breaks. “Babe, please. Come home.”

James stares at him, then makes the mistake of glancing back at the house. The hole in the garage is still there, where Tony almost died blowing himself up. The problem is, Tony’s going to get himself killed without James there to keep cleaning up his messes, and worse still, James _wants_ to be there to do so. And his desire’s always been his downfall.

He looks back at Tony’s broken face, sighs, looks at the ground. And that’s when Tony must know he’s won, because James knows his determination has faltered. “Okay,” he says, before Tony can say it for him. “Fine. I’m coming.”

It’s not the first time this has played out. It’s not even the fifth, or the tenth. Maybe the twentieth, or the thirtieth, but no one really keeps track anymore except possibly Pepper. Certainly Tony doesn’t know, and James doesn’t want to.

It swings around in a full circle and the dance starts again.

—§§§—

“I thought you two were fighting again,” Natasha says at Starbucks, over a double chocolate chip frappuccino. “You said you were leaving this time.”

“We got back together,” James explains. “We’ll do better.”

Natasha doesn’t bother hiding her flat stare. Her expression is a cocktail mix of disappointment, exasperation, and pity. James, as always, pretends he doesn’t know what it means and stares out a window, wondering how to fix this mess he lives in.

—§§§—

“It was Pepper’s birthday?” Tony blinks innocently. Once upon a time, it would have been endearing: messy hair, motor oil highlighting his cheekbones, eyebrows lightly singed. Those days passed a long time ago.

“Leave me out of this,” Pepper warns quietly. She’s ignored, as victims of crossfire are.

“Yes!” James exclaims. “It was Pepper’s birthday. Which you might have noticed if you didn’t spend all of your time holed up in that damn workshop with your stupid robots—“

“Take that back,” Tony says, voice suddenly scary soft, and Pepper abruptly stands and beelines for the door.

“Make me,” James snarls back.

For a week, James wears high-collared shirts to hide the bruises at his throat and Tony makes up stories about his black eye that fool exactly nobody. They bow to the inevitable and don’t bother breaking up, instead just sleeping in separate rooms until the evidence fades and they can pretend again like nothing happened.

—§§§—

“If you’re going to keep making eyes at her, maybe you should get it over with and go home with her instead of me,” James snarks, glaring at the blond in question.

“Maybe I will,” Tony says challengingly, eyes flashing.

Pepper would hit at least one of them—probably both—if there weren’t so many cameras around.

—§§§—

“Really?” James bursts out. “You said you were going sober.”

Tony grins at him sloppily from the couch and holds out a bottle of bourbon that probably cost more than the average American earned in a year. “Come join me,” he suggests, but James is already turning to leave in disgust.

—§§§—

“You don’t want me to be your therapist,” Bruce says, smile strained. “Believe me.”

“But you’ll do it for Tony?” James accuses, annoyed.

Bruce lets out a nervous kind of laugh with a dark thread of danger hiding under it. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t dare. And I won’t do couple’s therapy, either, so don’t bother asking. If you two ever get your shit together, it’s not going to be because I stuck my neck and sanity out for you.”

“Thanks,” James says darkly, a wry twist to his mouth. “You’re a great friend.”

The laugh Bruce lets out at that is a little truer, a little meaner, and he stands to go. Everyone seems to leave James before he can ask them to stay. “You and Tony both seem to think you can guilt me into this, but I am not touching your frankly toxic relationship with a ten foot pole.”

“It’s not toxic,” James says defensively, offended, and again Bruce laughs, his loudest one yet.

—§§§—

James drives up to the hospital with a metaphorical raincloud over his head to match the icy deluge coming down in waves. The umbrella helps, but by the time he gets inside the puddles have wetted his pants halfway up his calves. He gets the hall and room number from the blessedly level-headed receptionist and storms down until he finds Pepper standing outside a room, talking to a doctor.

“What did he take?” James demands. The doctor looks over, surprised at the interruption. Pepper tries to take the pause to introduce the two of them but James won’t have any of it. “What did he take?” he asks again, louder. The doctor’s eyebrows furrow together and Pepper’s lips are pursed, but James doesn’t have the time or patience to put up with it. “Come on. He overdosed again, who’s surprised? What was it? What did he take?”

And Pepper’s looking at him with that same horrible, disappointed look that it seems like everyone’s been giving him lately and she says, “James. He was hit by a car.”

His control holds for approximately two seconds as the shock settles into his bones, then the guilt. James turns and punches a wall and tries not to let Pepper or the doctor see him cry.

—§§§—

They don’t let him see Tony for another two hours. When he finally is allowed in, he’s hyperaware of Pepper’s eyes on his back as he takes the plastic chair next to the bed.

“Hey,” Jameswhispers. Tony’s asleep, and he doesn’t want to wake him up—partly because the doctors don’t recommend it, partly for the more selfish reasons that they seem to get along better when one or the other isn’t conscious. “Hey, I’m sorry.”

Sorry for what, though, that’s the question. The full list is too long for James to say just now, and it’s not the right place, anyway. They’re never in the right place. The apologies and lies overlap until James doesn’t know if half the things that are on the list he holds against Tony are even applicable anymore, and he doesn’t know anything, really, just that emotions run high when they’re in the same room, but he feels so _dead_ when they’re apart.

There aren’t very many words left, so James bundles them close in his heart as he reaches out to Tony and holds his hand almost desperately. He wants Tony to wake up and he doesn’t want this moment to end. He doesn’t know how much longer he can survive the tortuous roller coaster of their relationship. He doesn’t know how long they can hold out or how long anyone around them can continue to watch them tear each other apart.

Except, “I love you” isn’t a lie when he murmurs it into the palm of Tony’s hand. Or, if it is, it’s the ultimate lie, because damn it all if James doesn’t even know when he’s saying it.

 


	7. Meeting Again at a High-School Reunion

“So,” Tony says aloud, because he _knows_ that back and military haircut and wow, it’s been a long time since he’s seen him, “on a scale of one to don’t, how classy would it be to spike the punch? With the good stuff, of course.”

Rhodey turns around grinning. “Don’t,” he says, and Tony sighs mock-heavily. “At least, that’s the classy rating,” Rhodey adds. “I mean, for the hilarious factor, where one is do it and ten is don’t, I’d give it a… seven.”

“Seven.” Tony nods and pretends to think. “Good enough for me,” he says brightly, and makes an obvious beeline to the refreshment table. He hears Rhodey chuckling behind him and thinks, _finally_. Someone worth talking to in this hellhole of embarrassing memories.

—§§§—

“Justin’s greasy as ever,” Tony says conversationally, when he’s sipping a solo cup (what are they, eighteen? Tony’s almost offended, here) of spiked punch. Rhodey glances over at him and Tony nods to where Justin Hammer is standing, chatting up a blond chick with boobs that are probably fake. Charlotte, Christa, Kendra, Christine. That’s it, Christine Everheart, alpha bitch. Tony sincerely regrets his fling with her junior year.

“Who’s surprised, though?” Rhodey mutters. “Hard to afford shampoo when you spend your whole paycheck on eyesore suits.”

Tony eyes the pinstriped monstrosity that Justin’s wearing and concurs. “I don’t know who he’s trying to attract in that thing. The circus hasn’t passed through for _years_.”

“It’s probably where he found it. Who knows, maybe the clown wants it enough to come back for it. It’s not often you find a suit that hideous.”

“Smooth milk chocolate surrounding a gooey, snarky center,” Tony sighs. “I’ve missed you, Rhodey.”

Rhodey laughs softly. “I’ve missed you too, Tony. Shit, bitch alert, ten o’clock.”

Tony stands up straighter and sees Christine stalking toward him in her ankle-snapping high heels, expression predatory. He shrinks back, but it’s too late to hide behind Rhodey’s bulk. She’s already spotted him. “This is why I don’t try to stay friends with my exes,” Tony mutters, but gives her a bright smile with as much insincerity as it has teeth. “Christine.”

“Long time no see, Tony,” she purrs. Her lipstick is bright red and Tony has a vivid and unpleasant memory of trying to wash it out of one of his dress shirts ten minutes before he and Howard had to make a public appearance for the press.

“Yeah, not interested,” Tony says, cutting to the chase, still smiling.

Christine doesn’t seem to like that answer. “You’re sure, Tony? I mean, it’s been a while—“

“He means taken,” Rhodey says loudly, wrapping an arm around Tony’s shoulders. Practice alone keeps Tony’s smile from flickering, but he turns it a little bit mocking for Christine’s sake. He puts his arm around Rhodey’s waist to sell it.

“Hm.” Christine’s gaze lingers, but her smile’s disappeared. Tony’s not sorry to see it go. “Then I suppose I’ll see you around.” She waggles her fingers and flounces off.

“Bitch,” Tony mutters.

“You sure knew how to pick ‘em back then.” Rhodey’s hand is around his shoulders and Tony wants it to stay there. Apparently that crush never really left, then.

“Thanks for the save,” Tony says awkwardly. “You do realize we have to actually act like a couple for the rest of the night, now, right?”

Rhodey shrugs. “No problem. There’s no one else here I want to talk to, anyway.”

Tony grins, and just because he’s always wanted to, goes over the top. “Aw, Honey Bear,” he says, fluttering his eyelashes and placing a hand on Rhodey’s chest. Whoa, those are some nice pecs. “You’re so sweet.”

He can _feel_ Rhodey’s laugh. “Try not to oversell it,” he warns.

Tony’s eyes widen. “Me? Oversell something?” And Rhodey laughs again.

—§§§—

“Oh gross, don’t talk to me,” Tony mutters, but Justin keeps walking forward. Rhodey squeezes his shoulder in solidarity and Tony is _so_ glad that he’s not the sanest person here, because that wouldn’t bode well for anyone.

“Tony!” Justin holds his arms out and Tony sticks out a hand. Justin shakes it with a sweaty hand, which is gross, but not as bad as actually hugging the guy. “And James!” He makes the same motion toward Rhodey, but all Rhodey does is give him a little acknowledging wave of the hand. Not even a handshake, and not even in a mean way, just a dismissive one. Tony wants to be able to do that, but he’s not sure he could pull it off.

“Justin,” Tony says finally, when it’s clear that Rhodey has no intention of giving the guy a moment of his time. He’d say some nice pleasantry after that, but he really doesn’t want to be talking to this guy right now.

“It’s been a while,” Justin says for him, that stupid greasy smile like he knows everything on the planet making Tony want to wipe it off his face with steel wool. “And Christine just told me. Congratulations, you two.” And now with the awkward head nodding.

For a moment, Tony draws a blank, and then, _oh yeah_ , pretending to be a couple. “Thanks,” Tony says. “Um. We’re just—“

“Going,” Rhodey interjects. He shoots a look at Tony. “We’ve been here for more than an hour. I think that’s long enough. Can we finally go to dinner now?” Like they’ve been arguing about this all night.

Tony leaps on it like a lifeboat. “Well, Sour Patch, if you insist,” Tony says, and leans into Rhodey, his temple against Rhodey’s shoulder. Because, yes, he wants a good excuse to leave. But he also wants a good excuse to cuddle. God, he never really grew out of high school, did he.

“I do insist,” Rhodey says, and guides him towards the door. “Later, Justin.”

They both breathe a sigh of relief when they make it outside. “Thanks,” Tony says finally, reluctantly detaching himself from Rhodey. He can’t quite meet his eyes. “The whole ‘plus one’ thing really helps with the creeps, doesn’t it? Um, you really didn’t have to do that for me, so, thanks. Yeah.” Tony decides it’s time to cut his losses and slink off with his tail between his legs, so he turns to find his car. Wherever he parked it.

Rhodey grabs his shoulder. “Where are you going?”

Tony blinks at him. “Uh, my car? You know, away from here?”

“Okay.” Rhodey lets go, giving Tony a considering look. “If you want. You know I wasn’t kidding about dinner, though, right?”

“You weren’t?” Tony gapes a little, he’ll admit it.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” 

“No. Yes. I mean, that is, yes to dinner, if that’s an offer, because—“

“Yes, it’s an offer.”

“Okay.” Tony deflates and runs a hand through his hair. “Wow. I feel like I’m in high school all over again.”

“Well,” Rhodey says reasonably, “this would be the best place for that, I guess. Let’s go.” He swings an arm around Tony’s shoulders again and Tony practically melts into it, because this time, maybe he can stay here.

“Yeah,” he agrees pointlessly, wrapping his hands around Rhodey’s hips, thinking about it, and then moving one lower. “Let’s go.”


	8. Celebrity/Fan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it kind of follows the prompt. (I can't see Rhodey fangirling, okay? Unless it's over War Machine, I guess.)

“Here.”

Tony jumps at the word and looks in the bathroom mirror to see a man offering him a napkin. Tony snatches and dabs at his face so Pepper won’t get pissed that he messed up his makeup while trying to get that one woman’s lipstick off. He doesn’t remember her name and isn’t entirely sure that he remembers her hair color. Bust size, though, that was a C.

It occurs to him that this is not the general public bathroom. “Hey,” he says, turning to look at the actual version of the guy instead of the mirror version. He lets himself smile, because if he’s not smiling then something’s wrong. “Last time I checked this isn’t the public bathroom. How’d you get past security?”

“I am security.” The man pulls a lanyard up from under his shirt. “James Rhodes. Are you okay, Mr. Stark?”

Tony expertly suppresses a flinch, chuckles and ramps up with brightness of his smile, because obviously he’s not hiding it well enough, if someone has to ask. “Of course. Does this face look anything but fantastic to you?”

He waits for the stammered _of course not, Mr. Stark,_ or the low and sultry invitation to make it even _more_ fantastic. Instead, Rhodes cocks his head at him, considering, and says, “I meant without the microphones. Behind the magazines. You know.”

Tony tries to parse that, but honestly, it doesn’t really _sound_ like a proposition. “What?”

Rhodes flashes a grin and leans against the sink next to Tony’s. “Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. Did you know?”

Danger’s here—Tony closes off. “I think I know my own face.”

“Of course you do,” Rhodes says. “That’s why I asked you first. I just thought you were lying to me.” He shrugs.

“Right,” Tony says coolly, “well if you don’t mind me dismissing your doubts, I have a whole audience to woo, so, toodles!” He gives Rhodes an extremely fake grin that always serves to piss people off and practically struts out of the background.

He knows how to make people leave him be. He’s had enough practice.

—§§§—

Tony doesn’t plan for ending up there two hours later, trying to come down from a panic attack. He felt it coming on this time, so at least he’s not in the crowd, and Happy’s going to freak out at him later for disappearing without a warning, but he needs space. He needs privacy.

He needs another life. Tony stumbles into the bathroom and tries to make it to a stall, but his knees buckle and he ends up on all fours just outside of one. His knee is now throbbing something awful and he scoots until he’s sitting with his back against the stall divider, trying to breathe.

“Putting your head between your knees helps.”

Tony’s belabored heart can’t take much more of this; he doesn’t even have the presence to flinch when Rhodes practically appears. His teeth are clenched too tightly together for him to respond, so he obeys, lets Rhodes’ hand guide his head down, and focuses on trying to breathe.

It takes him a couple minutes, but Rhodes has a very smooth and comforting voice, so it could be a lot worse. Also, he’s security, and Happy personally vets the security of all his events after the snafu in Boston. Rhodes should be safe. At least, Tony hopes so: he’s now gently rubbing Tony’s back.

“Are you stalking me?” Tony says as soon as he can speak, because being alone in the bathroom together twice in one night is a bit much.

Rhodes chuckles and doesn’t lift his hand from Tony’s back. “I wouldn’t call it stalking. I saw you in the hallway and you looked like you were about to faint, so I followed you in here.”

“Oh.” Tony breathes in, breathes out, and closes his eyes in an attempt to give the rest of his brain time to get back online. He remembers that this man standing here and helping him through a panic attack is the same man he brushed off just a few hours ago. “I’m sorry ‘bout before,” he says. He even kind of is.

“I don’t mind,” Rhodes assures him. “Everyone knows you're an asshole. And no one should be surprised that you’re wearing armor.”

“I’m a popular face, I wouldn’t want to get shot.”

“Not that kind of armor.”

Tony knows. It makes him uncomfortable that Rhodes does, too, and so candidly. “Still. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” His thumb is starting to describe tiny circles between Tony’s shoulder blades again. “It’s okay if you're not okay, though. You know that, right?”

A pretty lie that can’t help Tony hide from the truth. “No, it’s not. Not out there. They’re vultures, you’ve got to know that.” And then Tony clams up, because that’s the most he’s told anyone about that—ever. Especially a stranger.

Rhodes hums. “I guess that’s true.” He silent for a moment. “In here, then. Right now, you don’t have to pretend. I won’t tell.”

Strangely enough, Tony believes him. So he starts a mental clock, gives himself ten minutes, and lets himself quietly fall apart next to a refreshingly kind stranger.

 


End file.
